


Room Number 15

by KatsukiSin



Series: Blank Pages, Waiting to Be Filled [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Because I think that should have been addressed more, Big brother pep talks, Caring Dean Winchester, Cas gets his own room, Cas talks about life before the Winchesters some, Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Castiel's Past, Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester Use Their Words, Demon blood mentions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventaully, Gen, Guilty Dean Winchester, Guilty Sam Winchester, Misunderstandings, Not Beta Read, Sam Is a Good Friend, Sam still isn't fully recovered from it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:33:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28569300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatsukiSin/pseuds/KatsukiSin
Summary: When Sam tells Dean that Cas is having trouble feeling like he belongs, the two have to face the fact that they haven't always treated him like an equal. They're pretty sure they know a way to make up for it, and decide it's time to officially give Cas his own room. Which means a shopping trip is looming on the horizon.Sequel to "The Day Will Come." This installment doesn't focus on Sam and Cas' book club.*Now includes an epilogue
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: Blank Pages, Waiting to Be Filled [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2005186
Comments: 14
Kudos: 46





	1. Shattered Conscience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the idea of S, D, and C going on a shopping trip and getting some bonding in. It was supposed to be a nice and short, fluff filled one-shot, but my dumbass brain likes to put ALL the angst EVERYWHERE, and this kinda got away from me. Just so you know, I don't plan for the actual shopping trip to have any angst-- maybe some bittersweet moments, because I can't help myself, but nothing like this. 
> 
> If you're curious about the timeline: takes place sometime after season 10. Sam and Cas successfully got the Mark of Cain off of Dean without unleashing the Darkness. Cas has his own Grace back again, and Gadreel is gonzo. 
> 
> "All my life I wish I broke mirrors  
> Instead of promises  
> 'Cause all I see  
> Is a shattered conscience staring right back at me"  
> \- Tidal Wave by Owl City

Dean caught Sam looking pointedly at him. Again. No words passed between them, but Dean got the message loud and clear: _Don’t do anything stupid, Dean._

The hunter gave his younger brother a glare in response, although, just like every other glare he had made on the car trip so far, it lacked any real venom. _Well, duh,_ was Dean’s wordless response.

And Sam just gave him that wry look again before turning to stare out the window. 

Dean held back a sigh. His gaze flicked up to the rearview mirror, where he could see Cas in the backseat, completely oblivious to the silent communication between the brothers. Like Sam, the angel was watching the buildings and people outside pass by. He seemed content with it, despite the awkward stiffness in his posture.

Sam had said Cas might be reluctant to come. “He might say it’s pointless. That we shouldn’t waste our time and resources with it because it’s not a big deal. It is, though.”

Sam had been right; Cas _had_ given those excuses when they told him they wanted to go pick up some stuff for Cas’ bedroom. Castiel had also denied that dorm 15 was his room in the first place, but the Winchesters had been quick to assure him that it was, and it had been so for a while now. Dean had noted that, despite the wide array of excuses Cas had come up with for why he shouldn’t have a bedroom, he never suggested that he didn’t _want_ one. 

* * *

When Sam had filled Dean in on the details of the situation, he… hadn’t taken it well. According to Sammy, Cas was having trouble feeling like he belonged anywhere: he had doubts about his place with the brothers and as part of Team Free Will. As painful as that revelation had been, it had only gotten worse when Sam had said that Cas didn’t think he had a place in the Bunker itself, either, and didn’t seem to think that he deserved one. “He didn’t say it out loud,” the younger Winchester had said. “But he didn’t have to.”

“That’s insane,” Dean had protested. After _everything_ the three of them had been through together? But what was the alternative? That Sam was lying? 

The young hunter shrugged helplessly. “It’s been a rough few years. For him, too.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve all taken some heavy hits lately. It’s not an excuse to-- to mope around! He’ll come out of it.” The words came out harsher than he had intended, but whatever. Sam was being dumb. They were _family,_ and Cas _knew_ that, of course he did. Sam was overthinking and misreading things; making problems out of nothing because he wasn’t used to the world not trying to tear itself apart. Dean wasn’t going to have it. Not now, not ever. They were gonna have some peace if it killed them.

“He’s not ‘moping,’” Sam scowled, as if he was the one with anything to be upset about. “And, yeah, we’ve all taken hits, but at least the two of us always had the time to work through them together. Cas hasn’t. I didn’t realize it until me and Cas started to… God, Dean, we’ve known each other for years, but we’ve never just _talked._ Like, did you know Cas was stationed in Mesopotamia, way back in ancient times?”

“Mesa-what, now?”

Sam gestured vaguely, as if to say ‘and there’s my point.’ 

“I was thinking we could get Cas some stuff. Pictures or paintings, books, his own sheets and blankets-- because I know the standard Men of Letters issued ones aren’t that comfortable-- just _something_ that will make it feel like his own space. It’s the least we could do to let him know we care.”

“He already knows, Sam. We’ve only told him a million times.”

A muscle in Sam’s jaw ticked. 

_‘Oh, boy.’_ Dean thought. 

“Maybe we’ve told him a couple of times,” Sam said coolly. “But when was the last time we showed him, Dean?”

“Sam…” Dean said in warning. _‘Dunno know where this is going, but I know I sure as hell won’t like it.’_

“No, Dean, really. Think about it. Him feeling alone like this isn’t anything new. It goes all the way back to the Apocalypse. You told me once, back then, that you had stopped believing in me.”

Dean’s jaw clenched. Sam was going to bring that up now? Seriously? Low blow.

“You lost faith in me, Dean,” Sam continued. “But even as the world was ending around us, we still managed to sort out our problems. Not very well, but, that’s the Winchester way. It was something, at least. We came through for each other, but we still shoved Cas away to focus on the Michael and Lucifer showdown. When Cas rebelled, he killed angels for us. Don’t get me wrong, most of them deserved what they got, but, Dean… they were still his family.”

“They were not. They were a bunch of dickwad angels who used him. That ain’t family.”

“You’re right. They weren’t really his family, but Cas considered them his brothers and sisters for _thousands_ of years, if not more, and those aren’t the kind of feelings you can just flip off with a switch. His hands were literally covered in the blood of his siblings, and he did it to protect a couple of _humans,_ but instead of bothering to be sympathetic, we demanded that he continue to risk everything for us.”

Dean paused. He hadn’t thought of it like that. Cas had called the angels his brothers and sisters before, yeah, and Cas had killed quite a few of them… but he had never seemed unreasonably distressed over it. Had still acted like the same intense, stone-faced, invulnerable angel, so Dean had never even considered that Castiel could have felt any grief or remorse for the angels he put down. Suddenly, Dean remembered that fateful day when his father warned him that he might have to kill Sammy. Dean… he would never be able to slaughter his little brother, no matter how far off the reservation he went. Dean was more than aware that the tyrannical angels in Heaven were _nothing_ like his little brother, that they couldn’t even begin to compare, but… when Cas killed angels… if the guy felt even half the pure terror and pain that Dean had felt when John Winchester had given that command... Dean’s stomach twisted at the thought. 

“That was just one time, though.” Dean’s voice was steady, although he did roll his shoulder slightly in his sudden irresoluteness. 

“What about God?” 

Dean raised a brow. “Cas ganked God and never told me?” He asked, only half-joking. Dean doubted a Seraph’s ability to be able to kill God (assuming the bastard really existed), but Dean wouldn’t be surprised to see the deadbeat’s name on Team Free Will’s hit list, considering the weird-ass life they led.

Sam’s eyes flickered shut as he visibly refrained himself from snapping at the snarky comment. “You know, God. Cas’ _Father?_ Joshua flat out told us that God doesn’t care enough to help us, and Cas was crushed when he found out. He drank an entire liquor store, and Cas isn’t exactly the drunk and disorderly type. That should have been a big clue that he needed help, but no. Cas discovered the real reason his dear old dad never came home from his supposed milk run, but instead of going out of our way to make sure he was ok, like friends are supposed to do, we just carried on with business as usual.”

“Ok, two times. We messed up two times. But that was forever ago, Sam. It hasn’t been that bad for a while, and it’s not going to be again. No more Apocalypse dangling over our heads and all.” Dean’s voice wasn’t as confident this time around. It sounded pretty bad when Sam said it like that. But he, Sam, and Cas had been through way too much together to have any doubts about where they belonged. As long as they were all together, they were unbeatable and unbreakable. They had fought off the forces of Heaven and Hell, shattered fate into a million pieces, broken the universe itself and duct-taped it back together again. As far as Dean was concerned, that all served as indomitable proof that they were meant to be by each other’s sides. And Cas wasn’t an idiot; he would be able to look past the rocky start and see what Dean knew to be true. 

“‘It hasn’t been that bad for a while?’’’ Sam repeated, his voice growling and low. “Really? Because Castiel got his wings and his Grace broken, and somehow it’s taken us _almost two years_ to learn that that’s a big deal for him. To learn that he’s been ‘shredded’ and ‘disabled’ that entire time! And we still don’t know the full depths of what that means. And it wasn’t too long ago that he was living on stolen Grace and you were struggling with the Mark. That stolen Grace-- he was sick, Dean. It was bad, and I knew it, but I still had Cas running himself into the ground trying to find a cure for you. Cas said he was fine, that he could handle it, but deep down I knew he was lying. He was _dying,_ Dean, but I was so desperate that I didn’t care. He was dying, and I used him like a pawn, like--like he was _expendable._ Who does that? Who the hell does that, Dean!?”

Dean blinked at his brother, momentarily taken aback. Sam had started his little rant like he was pissed off at Dean, but that had quickly spiraled into something else. By the end of it, Sam’s expression had shifted to hold a level of self-loathing and regret that Dean usually only saw in the mirror. He had been expecting to be chewed out by Sam, but now his little brother was harshly wiping his damp eyes with hands trembling in rage. Rage directed mostly, if not completely, at himself. 

“Sammy,” Dean started. 

“I didn’t think I’d ever be put in a position where I would have to choose between my brothers,” Sam interrupted bitterly. “But it was so easy to choose you over Cas. I didn’t even think about it. I just-- I chose you, and damn the consequences, and that’s not… What the hell is wrong with me?”

Dean’s tongue was heavy with a million responses to that (most of which were all some variation of “nothing is wrong with you; it was an impossible decision, and you did what you had to”). But there was something in Sam’s tone that he didn’t like. His voice wasn’t imploring or desperate, as it would be if he genuinely wanted to know what was wrong with him. Instead, his tone was laced with accusation and denial. Like he already knew the answer and hated himself for not being able to change it. 

“Sammy?” Just a name, but the way Dean said it gave it so much more meaning.

_What are you talking about?_ Dean said silently. _Because I can tell I’m missing something here. I can tell it’s bad, too, and I refuse to lose you to it. So talk to me._

_...Please._

Sam only shook his head, though. “I’m fine. Just--just give me a minute.” 

Dean shelved his anger about the whole Cas situation as his Big Brother mode was knocked into overdrive. Sam’s hands were clenched into fists, and his arms were held close to his body in an attempt to hide the shaking. Dean wasn’t sure if the trembling was just from anger, or if there was something else layered in there as well. His little brother was staring fixedly at a single point in the distance ( _‘He’s not looking at me. Is he ashamed or something? That ain’t good.’)_ as he tried to control the tears shining in his eyes. Dean gently guided his brother over to a chair. “You need anything? Bottle of water, maybe? A beer?”

“I said I was fine.”

Dean tried not to take the sharp response personally. 

“Really?” Dean mocked, throwing Sam’s previous tone back at him. “Because refusing to look me in the eye while you bawl your eyes out doesn’t seem so fine to me.” He… may have failed to remain neutral and patient with Sam’s snippiness. Just a little bit. 

“I’m not bawling my eyes out! God, Dean, I said to give me a minute!”

Dean threw his hands up in surrender. “One mississippi, two mississippi, three mississippi…”

Sam huffed out a snickering laugh. It wasn’t untouched by bitterness, but Dean felt a brief spark of relief that he had been able to relieve the tension some. Not that the little joke suddenly made everything okay, but at least it gave the elder Winchester something to work with.

“There’s just been too much suffering in our lives,” Sam said in a quiet voice after taking a few seconds to compose himself. “I’m not going to risk letting any more of it fester. Not when I can do something about it.”

“‘We,’” Dean corrected. “Not ‘I.’”

Sam nodded, but only after a pause just long enough to raise Dean’s suspicions. “That’s why I thought the three of us might go into town soon. It won’t be much, but it’ll be a start.”

“Three of us?” Dean questioned. “Why ruin the element of surprise? What, you think Cas would hate anything we picked for his digs?”

“Of course he’d hate anything _you_ pick out.” Dean bristled, but Sam continued before Dean could retort. “But mostly, I think it would be nice for us to do something together that isn’t hunting for once. Plus… what the hell do you decorate an honest-to-God angel’s bedroom with?”

“We could get him a harp. Could nab an industrial sized bag of cotton balls and fill the place with fluffy white clouds. And you know those ‘blank days accident free’ signs? We could get him one of those, except instead of accident, it would say ‘world-shattering Apocalyptic event’ on it.”

Sam was smiling now. “I don’t think he’d get the joke, though.”

“I guess not. He likes bees, though. We could do something with that.” 

“So you’d be into doing it, then? His room?”

“Yeah, I’ll do it.” _‘Even though it sounds like the kinda crap a pre-teen girl would go nuts over,’_ Dean couldn't help adding in his head. “On one condition.”

The smile slipped from Sam’s face. “And what would that be?”

“You have to tell me what caused your freak out.”

“It’s complicated. You wouldn’t understand,” Sam said, his jaw tightening. 

Dean groaned. “That is the girliest thing you could have said.”

The younger Winchester shook his head with a small scoff. Dean could see the adam's apple of his throat bob and the apprehension in his eyes as Sam deliberated. 

_‘If only the kid would spit it out instead of leaving me in suspense,’_ a part of Dean thought. 

_‘If only he’d keep quiet so things could go back to normal,’_ another part lobbed back. It was fleeting, though-- there wasn’t anything Dean wouldn’t do for his brother, and if that meant momentarily sacrificing the peace for his little brother’s emotional well-being, then so be it. 

“You told me once,” Sam said. “That Cas was everything good. You were right. Cas is an angel; he is everything good and light. But…” Sam firmly diverted his gaze. “But I’m the boy with demon blood. I’m tainted and dark. So maybe we can’t coexist. Maybe we were always destined to hurt each other.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. _‘So that’s what this is about,’_ he thought as his face hardened. 

Sam stayed quiet for a few moments, but he eventually turned to Dean with an expectant look as though wondering why Dean wasn’t chewing him out. 

“Are you going to say something?” The younger hunter finally prompted. 

“Why?” Dean returned coolly. “If you haven’t figured out that that’s a load of bullshit already, then nothing I say is gonna change your mind.”

Sam nodded, almost numbly. He turned away with a faraway look in his eyes, but Dean wasn’t done.

“ _Destiny?_ Destiny, Sam, really? You’re gonna sit there, bitching on about destiny, like we didn’t risk everything for free will? Like we didn’t already say screw it and tear up the script?”

Sam’s mouth opened in protest, but _no,_ goddammit, Sam had already gotten his two friggin cents in. Now it was Dean’s turn to lay down some hard truths, and Sam was gonna sit there and listen. 

“Don’t,” Dean snapped, and Sam’s mouth closed. Dean could see the anger and indignation lighting in Sam’s eyes, but that wasn’t going to be enough to stop him now.

“Nuh-uh. Not on my watch. Sammy… you’re the little brother I gave up my childhood to raise. How many nights did I spend laying awake at night, worrying about you, holding you through nightmares and flus and everything else life threw at us? And you’re gonna sit there and tell me you're evil incarnate? You’re the person Cas flew into Hell itself to save! And he may not have done the best job of it, but he took on your cage scars _for you._ Maybe you don’t see any value in yourself, but me and Cas have always seen the good in you. And whether or not you agree, you’re gonna have to have faith in that. In _us._ Because you don’t get to undermine our choices, our _sacrifices,_ by writing them off as fate like they weren’t worth anything. It’s not fate-- we kicked destiny to the curb a long time ago. It’s family, Sam. And cursed or not, we need you.”

This wasn’t the first time Sam had mentioned being corrupted. They had had a small conversation about it once before, back during the trials to close off Hell for good, but it didn’t seem like it had done much good in the long-term. What had Sam said earlier, about being done letting the suffering in their lives ‘fester?’ Sam had been dealing with all his emotional turmoil or whatever for a while now, letting it chip at him, and whatever had gone down during his and Cas’ conversation must have rubbed at his frayed edges the wrong way to make him snap like this. As much as Dean hated all this touchy-feely crap, Sammy wasn’t the only one who could nip something in the bud. Dean was going to kill every angel (minus one) and demon in existence for the haunted look in his baby brother’s eyes.

“I messed up, Dean. I’ve been trying to make up for it, but I just keep thinking… would I do it again? What does that make me?”

Dean waited until Sam met his gaze to respond. “Can you honestly tell me you’d feel any better if you’d chosen Cas over finding me and getting the Mark off?”

Sam’s jaw worked, and Dean could see doubt finally starting to etch into his features. 

“It would have been crappy all around, no matter what you did. That’s why me and Cas don’t hold anything against you, why you should consider easing up on yourself. You think you deserve to feel like shit, and hey, maybe you do. But let me tell you, no matter how shitty you feel, it sure as hell isn’t going to fix anything.”

“It might keep me from making the same mistake again,” Sam protested, but it was feeble at best.

“No, it won’t. Just feeling bad about something isn’t going to keep you from making a dumbass decision.” Take what had happened with Gadreel, for instance. Tricking Sam into letting an angel possess him, especially after the guy was so messed up from Lucifer, had ripped Dean into pieces, but he had still done it even though he knew it felt wrong. “That’s a choice you have to make for yourself. You can’t shove responsibility onto fate. It’s up to you now, Sammy.”

Something like hope worked its way into Sam’s eyes. Not a lot of it, certainly not enough to banish the darkness and guilt still eating away at him, but it was a start. 

Sam must have come to the same conclusion. “How’d you get to be so wise?”

Dean grinned. It was wan, more of an attempt to reassure his brother and lighten the tension than a genuine display of humor. “I’m not just a pretty face.”

“Dean…” Sam started. Translation: _Thank you. For everything._

The hunter gave a small nod. _And don’t you dare go forgetting a word of this._

* * *

It didn’t take long for Dean to find himself in the Bunker’s private shooting range. (And it was damn cool that he had his own private shooting range. God, how had he lived before the Bunker?)

When Dean Winchester found himself approaching Emotional Overload, his go-to move was to pick up a bottle, or two or three or twelve. 

He was trying something different this time, though. With Men of Letters issued noise-canceling earmuffs secured over his ears, Dean aimed the barrel of his gun at the target across the room. 

Dean thought of that demon bitch Ruby and what she had done to his family. He took a shot. The bullet ripped through the red and white circles on the target’s chest, dead center.

Dean thought of the look in Sam’s eyes as he called himself tainted. He took another shot, and another hole appeared in the target’s chest. 

Dean thought of the Heaven and God that Sammy had loyally prayed to for his entire life, the very same Heaven and God that had failed to keep his family safe. He took another shot.

He thought of his mother telling him that angels were watching over him. One more shot. 

Because yeah, Dean would suffer through a Dr. Phil episode to help his brother, but the day Dean talked about his personal issues of his own volition was the day that they would have to set Cas’ imaginary ‘Days Since World-Shattering Apocalyptic Event’ sign to zero.

With that thought, the elder Winchester let off another shot at the emotions that churned his stomach and burned his throat. Usually, this was the point when Dean would drown his emotions in beer. But for once, his shots weren’t of the alcoholic variety. He didn’t know why today was so special. Yet here he was, taking his anger out on a target instead of drowning it away. 

And, yeah, he was angry, thank you very much. He was angry for every one-night stand that he hadn’t actually wanted, but had been too desperate and touch starved and _alone_ to turn away. He was angry about the mask of callousness and jokes that he wore like a shield. Like a weapon. He was angry at the target in front of him because he knew that no matter how many times he shot it, it would never give him the grim, burning satisfaction that killing a living thing would. Before Hell, maybe it would have, but after getting a taste of what it was like to take out your tortured wrath on the crying, screaming, begging souls of the damned, a silent and stationary target would never be enough. 

Three more shots. Because Sam wasn’t the only tainted one around here. 

Dean thought of his father telling him to kill Sammy. He took two shots, both of which ripped through the target’s forehead. 

Dean thought of that day he had called Cas a coward for refusing to turn against Heaven and help him, back during the Apocalypse. One more shot.

_‘Nobody cares that you're broken, Cas. Clean up your mess!’_ Another shot.

Dean thought of Cas, alone and human, killed by a reaper. He was resurrected, but…

_‘You can’t stay.’_ The hunter almost laughed. Sam had been up there having a freak out because he had chosen him over keeping Cas safe, and all the while, Dean was guilty of the very same crime. 

Two more shots.

Dean thought of the way he had beaten Cas to a pulp in the library while under the Mark of Cain’s influence. Cas hadn’t fought back. One more shot.

Dean kept shooting. He changed guns a few times, just to spice it up a bit. Maintain the variety. There was no shortage of guns here, after all. 

There was a shortage of bullets, though, as Dean soon found out. 

Eventually, Dean put down his gun and collapsed against the wall, sweating and panting. Which was annoying, considering that the most movement he had made was to pull his trigger finger for however long he had been down here.

Dean thought about how he had exploded on Cas when the angel said that his wings and mojo had lost their spark. His finger twitched, but there was no gun in his hand anymore. He leaned his forehead against his knees as he struggled to get his breathing back under control.

When Dean had agreed to help Sam dec out Cas’s room earlier, it had mostly been as a way to placate the younger and get him talking. Now, though, after Dean thought about it…

Cas deserved to know he had a place in their home. And he would be damned if he didn’t do all that he could to make sure their angel knew it, after everything that had happened between them. 

  
  
  



	2. Halfway Out of the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a longer chapter-- just over 5,000 words! There wasn't a good place to split it up though, so enjoy this monstrosity, lol. 
> 
> ALSO, I keep forgetting to mention: Metatron never gave Cas the pop culture mind dump in this series. Not a very important detail, but I figured you might want to know.

Dean glanced up at the rearview mirror. “Cas? You got any ideas for your room?”

“No,” The angel said without looking away from the window. 

“You could choose a theme,” Sam piped up. “Maybe you’d enjoy something rustic?”

“Perhaps.”

Sam shot Dean a helpless look at the angel’s noncommittal tone, but the elder hunter just shook his head. He wasn’t sure what to make of Cas’ standoffishness, either. 

The last few minutes of the car ride were made in silence, save for the radio playing classic rock in the background. When he pulled into whatever store Sammy had picked out for them, Dean pulled the keys out of the ignition almost mournfully, since turning the engine off meant turning the music off as well. 

The elder Winchester didn’t sit around waiting for the silence to settle in again, instead jumping out of the car and heading into the store with only a brief pause to ensure that both of his brothers were behind him.

The first ten minutes inside the store saw Sam and Dean walking around, pointing out to Cas things they liked or making fun of products they found ridiculous. The angel stayed almost carefully neutral the whole time, giving vague one-word responses, and Dean struggled to keep his frustration from seeping into his voice and gait. 

Eventually, Sam pulled Cas aside. They were far enough away that Dean couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he could see Cas’ expression shift as Sam talked. There was confusion in the way the angel’s eyes narrowed, then contemplation as Cas looked away from Sam to stare intently at the ground, and finally there was understanding as Cas met the other’s gaze.

Dean watched from the cart (which was still empty except for a box of Twinkies Dean couldn’t resist throwing in, despite Sam’s look of disgust). A part of him thought maybe he should go join the conversation, but for the most part, Dean was too mesmerized by the easy way Cas and Sam talked to each other to pay that thought much attention. 

Back when they had first met, Castiel had been unwavering and bright with a light that lacked warmth, like a distant star in the night sky. Back then, Sam had been awed by the angel, left rendered into a stunned and floundering mess by the being who acted so unreachable and resplendent, as though he really was glorious, powerful, and unknowable like the stars above. 

They weren’t like that anymore. There was a comfort and fluidity in the way the two interacted, the kind that Sam had only ever had with Dean before. The unsteady friction that had existed between them when Sam had expected Cas to be the fairy tale angel he had grown up praying to, and when Cas had expected Sam to be the troublesome and twisted abomination Heaven had described, was no more. It had been turned into something compassionate and tender, and had been strengthened by the unceasing pressure of all the hardships they had faced together instead of strained. 

As Dean watched the two quietly conversing, it occurred to him that Sam and Cas shared a strength and closeness between them the depth of which he had not been fully aware of. The bond between his little brothers (because Dean would always view himself as Cas’ big brother, even if the angel was unfathomably older than himself) filled the elder Winchester with a pride that eased the frustration and guilt that had been eating away at him for the last few hours.

After a few minutes, Sam and Cas made their way back to the elder Winchester, and Dean was relieved to note that Cas’ demeanor had changed. He no longer held himself stiffly, or with an air of forced dispassion. Dean felt a little bad for not engaging in whatever conversation the two had had, but Dean had always done a better job of expressing himself with actions than with words, anyway. 

Xxx

“What did you tell him?” Dean asked in a low voice. 

“Mostly that we’re doing this because we want him around,” Sam said, glancing unconsciously at the angel. Cas was walking a few feet ahead of the brothers, having already spotted the aisle the three were heading to. “That it’s not an inconvenience or an obligation.”

“For such a clever guy, he can really be an idiot sometimes.”

Sam huffed out a laugh at the comment. “Yeah, well, I think that can be said about all three of us.”

Dean shook his head with a smile as he remembered the man who had often called the three of them idiots. Or, to borrow his terminology, idjits. Would Bobby be amused to see two hunters going shopping to decorate an Angel of the Lord’s bedroom? “What do you think Bobby would say if he was here?”

“I think he’d be proud of us,” Sam said. “We’ve come a long way.”

“Yeah. We have.” The conversation lulled as Sam and Dean followed Cas into the aisle. Dean looked around at the sheer number of comforter sets stocked on the shelves. Would Cas want one that was just a solid colour? Would he want one with some kind of design on it? 

Cas also seemed uncertain as he took in the comforter sets. “I think I can understand the significance of having a room inside the Bunker, but, as I’ve said before, I don’t even sleep. Are blankets strictly necessary?”

“ _ Hell  _ yeah they’re necessary!” Dean stepped away from the cart to clasp a hand on the angel’s shoulder. “They’re the most important part! They’re what ties everything in your room together.”

“You’ve gotta look past the function and see the aesthetics of everything, Cas. You can choose to decorate a space based on function and practicality, but it’s way more fun to base it on things that make you happy,” Sam agreed. 

Cas squinted at the blankets on the surrounding shelves for a moment. “Alright,” he said thoughtfully. “I think I get it now.”

“Good. If we can teach an Angel of the Lord how to have fun, we can do anything.” Ignoring Sam’s annoyed glance, Dean grabbed a comforter set that had caught his eye earlier and held it up for Cas’ inspection. “Now, what about this one?”

Cas scowled at the design. It was baby blue and filled with childish images of angels in diapers and halos. “Definitely not.”

“You wound me, Castiel.” But Dean put the comforter set back on the shelf. 

The next few minutes saw the three of them surveying various comforters and pointing some out to Cas, who seemed indecisive. Finally, Sam called the two of them over, and Cas’ eyes widened in delight. Sam had found a comforter set that was a cheery yellow and splattered with designs of bees and sunflowers. 

“I was wrong,” Cas said it so quietly it was almost a whisper. “I didn’t understand until now.”

The angel gingerly pulled the comforter set off the shelf, looking down at it in awe. “I can really get this one?”

“You better bee-lieve it, angel.” Dean said with a grin. 

“A bee pun?” Sam snickered. “Really?”

“Sam!” Dean gasped, pressing a hand to his chest in an innocent gesture. “Your scorn truly…  _ stings  _ me.”

“Unbelievable,” Sam muttered. 

“Don’t you mean…”

“Dean, don’t do it--”

“Un- _ bee _ -lievable?”

“I hate you so much right now,” Sam sighed, his eyes slipping closed in annoyance. 

“I don’t,” Cas said as he wrapped his arms around Dean. Dean blinked, surprised, but he quickly smiled and returned the hug. 

Xxx

Castiel stopped walking abruptly, looking at a bunch of cylindrical objects on a shelving unit. 

“Scented candles?” Dean asked, following his gaze. 

“They’re scented?” Cas repeated.

“Yeah.” Dean grabbed a candle at random and, taking the top off, held it beneath Cas’ nose. “See?”

“Oh!” The angel’s eyes widened and he regarded the candles on the shelves with a curious reverence. 

“Did you know,” Cas began as he started smelling the candles that interested him. “That people used to put candles in trees, before the winter celebrations were overtaken by Christian customs?”

“That sounds like a major fire hazard,” Dean frowned. 

“Fires did start sometimes, yes.” Castiel gently placed a cinnamon-scented candle in the cart. “But the candles were a way of pleading with the sun to come back during the winter time. As long as there was a chance of the sun coming back to banish the darkness and the cold, it was worth the risk.”

“Here, try this one,” Sam said, handing Cas a candle labelled Misty Storm. “That’s why people today put Christmas lights on trees, isn’t it? It came from the pagan tradition of putting candles in pine trees?”

Castiel wrinkled his nose at the Misty Storm candle. Dean couldn’t blame him; some of the more outlandish scents smelled damn weird. “Yes. But I don’t think most humans rely on it as a method to keep from starving and freezing in the middle of the winter anymore.”

“Why pine trees?” Dean asked. 

“Pine trees are the only trees that keep their leaves green throughout the winter,” Sam explained. “So pagans used to worship them as the only plants that seemed to stay alive during the harsh winter months. At its core, the winter solstice celebrations used to be about celebrating that winter was almost over, and people were halfway out of the dark.”

“That sounds really…” Dean paused. “...human.” 

“Holding onto hope during the bleakest of times is an extraordinarily human thing to do,” Castiel agreed with a smile as he put a green apple scented candle in the cart. 

“Did you ever join in on the celebrations?” Dean asked. He imagined Cas watching people put lit candles into trees for the first time, the angel’s head tilting in his  _ I don’t understand human culture  _ look, and tried not to grin at the image. 

“No. As an angel, I wasn’t allowed to do such things. I did get the opportunity to watch from time to time, though.”

“You weren’t allowed?” Dean balked. “Why? What did Heaven have against a couple of candles?”

“I don’t know,” Cas said, giving Dean an odd look. “I didn’t ask questions.”

“Well, you’re on Earth now, so you can put as many candles on as many trees as you want.”

“As long as you’re willing to risk starting a fire,” Sam interjected.

Xxx

“I’ll be right back.”

“What? Where are you going?” 

“You’ll see.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at Sam’s response. “‘I’ll see?’” 

“Yep,” Sam said with an innocent grin over his shoulder as he walked away. 

Leaning in close, Cas asked: “Should we be worried?”

“God, I hope not.”

The angel’s mouth opened with a reply, but Dean cut him off with a dramatic gasp. “Cas,  _ look!” _

Dean rushed forward, grabbing an item off a shelf. When he turned back around to face Cas, he was met with a bewildered, alert angel with a silver blade held ready in his hand.

“Cas!” Dean hissed. “Put that thing away! Do you want to get us kicked out?!”

The angel grumbled something unintelligible as he slid his blade back up his sleeve. 

Dean pointed at the object in his hand with a smirk. “Glow in the dark stars!”

“‘Glow in the dark stars?’”

Dean shot Cas a hurt look at the angel’s lack of enthusiasm. 

“Yeah! You put these bad guys on your ceiling, keep the lights on for a bit to charge the material, and when you finally turn the lights off…” Dean pushed the package of stars into Cas’ hands. “You have your own personal night sky.”

“Stars don’t look anything like this, Dean.”

“It would be a lot of work, but I guess I can suspend flaming balls of gas from your ceiling,” Dean said. “You know, for accuracy’s sake.”

“I wouldn’t recommend for humans to get close to flaming gas in any shape. I suspect it would go very wrong, very fast. You’re not angels, after all.”

“Oh, so I can’t do it, but you can? Talk about double standards.”

“It’s not a double standard if humans are genuinely incapable of walking amongst the stars like an angel can,” Castiel said, shaking his head at Dean with an exasperated fondness. 

“Whatever, dork. Is that what angels do on their Friday nights, when they’re not busy with the Heavenly Host clique? They just ‘walk amongst the stars?’” 

“Angels don’t tend to have a lot of free time. I didn’t, at least, but I did enjoy visiting the stars when I could.”

“It must be pretty underwhelming,” Dean started. He met Cas’ eyes with a rueful smirk. “When you look up at the night sky after seeing all those stars up close and personal.”

“Flying close to the stars is a truly wondrous experience. To feel the way they pulse with power, to feel the light waves that breathe life into the universe roll over you when you’re so close to the source, it’s incredible. But, Dean…” Cas wasn’t quite smiling, but there was something warm in his eyes as he looked at Dean with a wry mien. “It’s nothing compared to being here on Earth, surrounded by family. I would rebel a million times over, just to be able to stand with God’s chosen people and look up at the sky we fought so hard to save.”

“‘God’s chosen people.’” Dean snickered, because he could feel fear and awe roiling around inside him at the knowledge that Castiel had meant every word, and because it was easier to snicker than to try to address how much he loved the angel for it. “You say that like it means something.”

“Even if God is nowhere to be found,” Cas said slowly. “His will and His love live on. I have faith in that.”

“You really haven’t seen God? Not even once?” Dean asked, though he already knew the answer. 

The angel sighed. He didn’t say yes or no, but Dean could see the answer in the way he ducked his gaze and slouched his shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean said quietly. “When me and Sam were too young to hunt, Dad would ditch us in motel rooms or at Bobby’s for days, weeks, sometimes even months. I always tried to stay busy. Keeping Sammy safe and helping him with school, hustling at pool, digging into the lore books-- just doing anything so I wouldn’t have time to stop and wonder where Dad was, if he was okay, if he was coming home. It was awful, but at least I knew he cared about us, in his own way. I could hold onto that.”

“Your father left you alone at times, but he always came back, didn’t he?” Dean tried not to wince at the desperation in Cas’ eyes as the angel searched his face. 

“Yeah. He did, eventually.” In a physical sense, at least, but Dean wasn’t going to say that out loud. 

“When Heaven laid out the grand plans for the Apocalypse…”

The angel paused. He looked down at the packaged stars, suddenly more interested in turning the package over and over in his hands than in talking.

“What about it?” Dean prompted. 

“They said that you and Sam were ‘modeled’ after Michael and Lucifer. Whoever did the modelling did a very poor job, but maybe… maybe John Winchester was ‘modeled’ after our Father as well. Your father always came back, so perhaps there’s a chance that God… that He will, too.”

“Cas,” Dean started. The angel dragged his gaze away from the stars. It hurt Dean to see the worry and pain hidden away in there but seeing the glimmer of hope in Castiel’s eyes hurt worse. “Heaven’s in shambles. Most days, it doesn’t feel like Earth is much better off. God should be here, but He’s not. He doesn’t care.”

And there it was, the hope in the angel’s eyes being overshadowed by something darker. The angels swallowed visibly as he turned his face to the side, but he didn’t seem surprised by Dean’s words. The Winchester wasn’t sure if it was because Cas had suspected Dean might say something like that, or because he had suspected that the words themselves were true. Watching Cas struggle to maintain a neutral expression almost made Dean wish he had simply told Castiel what he had wanted to hear, but he wasn’t the type to give false hope. Plus, whatever relationship Cas wished he had with his Father simply didn’t exist. It wasn’t real, but Dean could give Cas something that was. 

“Screw Him, Cas. Me, you, and Sam are the only things we’ve ever needed. Team Free Will, remember? We’re gonna be here through thick and thin.”

Cas nodded slowly, but before he could say anything, Sam had suddenly made a reappearance. Dean immediately noticed the way Sam held his hands behind his back like he was hiding something. 

“Did I miss anything?”

_ ‘You missed a lot, actually,’  _ Dean tried to convey, but Sam wasn’t looking at him. Instead, his brother was focused on Cas, who was holding up the package Dean had given him. 

“Dean found me some stars.” 

“Aww, how cute.” 

Dean bristled at the cheekiness in Sam’s tone. “Hey, those things are the staple of growing up in America. I don’t make the rules, okay? I just play by ‘em.”

“The staple of growing up in America?” Sam snickered. “How would you know? We never had any glow in the dark stars.”

“Because I’m not uncultured, douche.”

“You never had the glowing stars?” Cas asked with a frown. 

“We lived in motel rooms most of the time,” Dean reminded him. “It would be a lot of work to put them up and take them down every time we worked a new case.”

Cas looked down at the package in his hands for a few moments before marching to the shelf and grabbing two more. “Then we might as well rectify that. You live in the Bunker now, so you can put as many stars on your ceiling as you want.”

Dean grinned as Cas handed him a package of stars. He didn’t love stars as much as Cas did, and the childish trinkets might look a little strange in a room with guns and weaponry hanging from the walls, but the angel had a point. Dean certainly wasn’t going to let him down. 

Cas moved to hand Sam the stars, but seemed to notice for the first time that the Winchester’s hands were firmly behind his back. “What do you have?” The angel asked, tilting his head. 

“I got the idea when we were looking at the candles.” Dean quirked a brow when Sam brought a box of fairy lights out from behind him.

“ _ Those  _ are fairy lights?” Castiel asked incredulously. “But no one would put a living creature in a box like that, right? So if there’s not a fairy in there, then why are they called--” 

“It’s just a name, Cas. The lights don’t have anything to do with fairies.”

Castiel rolled his eyes so dramatically that Dean had to fight back a snicker. “Why do humans insist on giving things misleading names? You’re practically asking for misunderstandings!”

“I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it eventually,” Sam said as he held out the box. Cas faltered though, his gaze flitting from the fairy lights, to the stars in his hands, and then to the candles and bedspread in the cart. 

“You good?” Dean asked as he moved to stand next to the angel. 

“Yes. Yes, I’m good. It’s just…”

“If you don’t like the fairy lights, I can put them back. It’s not a big deal,” Sam reassured the angel. 

“I do like them, but…” Cas sighed in frustration. “None of these things seem very… I mean, I don’t have the best understanding of American masculinity standards, but none of these things seem to fit into that.”

Dean paused. Cas had never seemed to care about what he deemed ‘trivial human social rules’ before. Dean hadn’t realized Cas might be worried about things like that. Except Cas was also getting more and more human, so maybe he was starting to feel like the rules were beginning to apply to him in ways they hadn’t previously. Maybe Cas wasn’t just struggling to fit in with Sam and Dean, but with humanity in general. 

“You’re an angel,” Sam gave Cas a pointed look. “You’re not limited to any sort of gender norms. And even if you were, it wouldn’t be right to let gender conformity keep you from being happy.”

Dean shot Sam an alarmed look. ‘Gender conformity?’ What the hell did that mean? Cas didn’t seem confused by it; if anything, his face softened in understanding. Dean had definitely missed some conversation between the two of them, then. He’d have to ask them about it later. 

“Besides,” Dean cleared his throat to catch Castiel’s attention. “Doing what you want no matter what anyone thinks about it sounds pretty manly to me.”

Cas looked between the two of them one more time. Whatever he saw seemed to convince him that they weren’t lying, as he put the fairy lights and the stars into the cart without any more hesitation. 

Xxx

“Where did you say we were going?” Cas asked.

“I didn’t,” Dean said. “That would ruin the surprise.”

“Oh,” Cas said, before turning his attention to the cart. “How are you going to pay for all of this?”

“Three words, Cas: credit card scams. Gotta love ‘em.”

“Dean!” Sam hissed. “Do you wanna lower your voice some? We’re in public!”

Dean almost stopped walking as he shot Sam an incredulous glance. “Dude. After everything we’ve been through, do you really think we’re gonna go down for credit fraud? Really?”

“Knowing our luck?” Sam quipped. “Yeah, Dean, I wouldn’t doubt it.”

“Knowing our luck, I think it’s the least of our worries.”

“Perhaps Sam is right, though, and you shouldn’t tempt fate. You do that by accident often enough, anyway,” Cas muttered. 

“Ok, if we go down for credit fraud, let G--” Dean faltered. He had been going to say ‘let God strike me dead,’ but after his and Cas’ conversation, mentioning God didn’t feel like the best thing to do. Damn it, if Dean ever saw God face to face, he was gonna put a bullet straight through the bastard’s heart for what He had done to Cas. “Let Gandalf hit me upside the head with his staff.”

Sam snorted at the comment, and Cas seemed perplexed, but Dean had come to expect that from the angel. 

“Anyway,” Dean cleared his throat. “Here we are!” He abandoned the cart to gesture around him with a flourish. 

This time, both Sam and Cas looked confused. 

“You brought us the records section,” Sam said slowly. “Even though we don’t have a record player?”

Dean snapped his finger to point in Sam’s direction. “That’s what you think.”

“No, that’s what I  _ know.” _

“And what would you say if I told you I had done some digging and found an old timey record player in the Bunker?”

The corner of Sam’s mouth tugged upwards. “You’re kidding.”

“I am not,” Dean assured. “And I figured, you have the Netflix in your room, so why not let Cas have the vinyl record player in his room?”

“That’s a surprisingly good idea,” Sam said. 

“What? All of my ideas are good ideas!”

“What about last week, when you found those nunchucks in a storage room?” Cas said in a deadpan. “And you gave yourself a black eye? Was that a good idea?”

“That’s different!” Dean protested. “I had you to heal me, so it evens out!”

“Oh, really?” Sam smirked, his voice a sickly sweet purr that set Dean on edge. “What about five seconds later, when you continued to play with the nunchucks until you hit yourself on the head so hard that you stumbled backwards and shattered a table?”

“I told you never to bring that up again,” Dean muttered darkly. 

The smug tone didn’t leave Sam’s voice as he said: “I’ll stop bringing it up the second it stops being funny.”

Dean bristled. Putting a hand on Cas’ shoulder, he directed the angel’s attention away from the conversation while he still had a shred of dignity to maintain. “The interesting thing about this album is…”

He wasn’t looking at Sam, but Dean could practically feel his little brother’s self-satisfied stare as he went into detail on the histories, people, and factoids behind various rock albums. Dean kept going, easily slipping from tidbit to tidbit, and all the while there was a spark in his eyes as he talked about the albums he loved so dearly. He was so enamored that he didn’t notice Sam had come up next to him until he got elbowed in the ribs. 

“Ow!” Dean gasped, sending his brother a glare. Sam just jerked his head as if to say  _ ‘look.’ _

Dean scowled at him, rubbing his aching side, but complied. Castiel was standing beside him, but his head was angled away, and he hadn’t seemed to notice that Dean had stopped talking. Following the angel’s gaze, Dean realized Cas was staring intently at a record entitled ‘John Denver’s Greatest Hits.’

Dean knew who that was (he knew  _ a lot  _ about  _ a lot  _ of musicians), but he also knew that country/folk wasn’t his thing. Still, that didn’t stop him from moving around Cas to pick up the record. “Oh, this guy,” Dean started, looking up at Cas with an appreciative mien. “This guy is awesome.”

Cas looked startled. “You know John Denver?”

“Yep. This guy does a lot of nature songs. Let me tell you, there’s nothing like rolling your windows down with ‘Country Roads’ playing.”

“That’s a good song,” Cas said, almost timidly. Interesting. Dean hadn’t seen that side of Cas very often. “I like ‘Rocky Mountain High,’ too.”

“They’re classics,” Dean agreed, putting the record into the cart. “He died in, what, ’97? Went down flying a plane. That’s pretty badass.”

“Hey, Dean, look at this.”

Dean glanced over to find Sam holding up a Taylor Swift album. 

“Should we get this one too?” Sam asked innocently.

“ _ Red? _ Hell yeah. It’s not as good as  _ 1989,  _ but I’ll take it.”

Sammy rolled his eyes as Dean gleefully took the album and placed it in the cart.

Xxx

It wasn’t until they were in the car that Dean remembered. Everything they had bought was in the trunk and he was just about to put the key in the ignition, when he looked up to meet Cas’ eyes in the rearview mirror. 

“Hey, Cas, what’s Mesopotamia?”

Cas seemed surprised. “It was an ancient civilization that existed around 6,000 years ago between the Tigris and Euphrates rivers. The name Mesopotamia means ‘the land between the two rivers.’”

Sam was looking at him with a confused expression, but Dean carried on anyway. “Sam told me once that you were stationed there?”

“Yes,” Cas nodded. “I was sent there to ensure the survival of one of the kings at the time. He had been about to make a foolish journey through land infested with gallus. Those are malevolent beings who drag humans to Hell,” he added as an afterthought. “A bit like hell hounds.”

“Did you get him out alive?”

Cas tilted his head. “Yes. Why?”

“Just curious,” Dean said with a shrug. “Did you get sent to Earth a lot?”

“I did. My job was mainly to observe humanity as it developed and report my findings to my superiors. There were times when I was ordered to interfere, as I did in Mesopotamia, but there were plenty of times when my orders weren’t so… benevolent.” 

Dean held back a sigh when Cas’ face went blank and he turned away to gaze out the window. Dean had always known that Cas must have done some less than charitable things while he was still on Heaven’s payroll, but it sucked to see the angel get so despondent over it. It wasn’t like the guy had had much of a choice in the matter, way back then-- Heaven would have had no problem torturing or even killing Cas if he didn’t do what they wanted. And Cas had still rebelled for humanity and done what was right when it had mattered. 

“You must have seen a lot of civilizations,” Sam piped up. “Did you have a favorite?” 

Cas dragged his gaze away from the window. “A little village in Sumer. I wasn’t even supposed to be there. I was still getting used to flying while inside a vessel, and had accidentally gotten separated from my garrison. Technically it wasn’t a village yet, since the people who would cultivate the land were only just arriving there. I remember it because it scared me.”

Dean twisted around in his seat. “There’s no way. What could a bunch of primitive, ancient humans do that could scare  _ you?”  _

“One of them had a broken femur,” Cas said, as though that was a sufficient explanation. 

“So?” Dean prompted. 

“Humans were almost exclusively nomadic at that time. Having a broken leg meant that one could not find water or follow after herds for food, and could not contribute anything to their group. Up until that point, anytime I had seen a human receive such a grievous injury, the human was left behind to be eaten by predators or to dehydrate. Having such an injury should have been a death sentence, Dean.”

“Should have been?” Sam asked. 

“They didn’t leave the man behind. Instead, the group stopped. They built more permanent housing with mud and sticks, they started planting crops, and they brought the man with the broken leg food and water, even though they got nothing from it. They changed their entire way of life for the safety of one man. I hadn’t seen anything like it since the extinction of the neanderthals.”

“The neanderthals,” Dean said quietly. “You’ve mentioned them before.”

Cas nodded, a ghost of a smile gracing his face. “Yes. I enjoyed their poetry a great deal. They had a lovely view of life, and I was sad to see them brought to their knees, especially since the remaining hominids seemed so… mindless and violent.” 

“Gee, thanks, Cas,” Dean snickered. 

“I don’t mean to offend,” Cas said hurriedly. “I can clearly see the wonderful beings  _ Homo sapiens  _ have grown and developed into. But after the neanderthals, I told myself I wouldn’t get attached to anything on the mortal plane again. And in that village…”

“You realized that you were starting to get attached,” Sam concluded in a breathy, awed voice. “And it scared you.”

“I didn’t think I would be able to stand by and watch another species I cared about get obliterated,” Cas admitted. “I didn’t know then how right I was.” Cas waved a hand as though to gesture to his rebelling from Heaven to be with the two humans. 

In the back of his head, Dean had always thought that  _ he  _ had taught Cas about what it meant to be human, that he was the one who taught the angel the difference between right and wrong. Now, though…

“You started Falling way before you met us.” After all, Dean and Sam had only given Cas the courage and the support he needed to stand up for what was right. The knowledge and the love of humanity had been there all along. “You were always going to find your way here.” 

_ You were always going to become a part of our family. _

“And I’m immeasurably glad that I did.”

“Team Free Will,” Sam said. “A bond thousands of years in the making.”

“Awesome.” And with that, Dean turned the key in the ignition.

It was time to go home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of Sam, Cas, and Dean walking around a store and random objects sparking more meaningful conversations about Cas and his past was the main reason I starting writing this, and it's incredibly satisfying to have it written down into words. It was hard to get started, though, because I had trouble thinking of things to decorate Cas' room with. I started trying to think of Castiel's hobbies for inspiration, and that's when I realized that Cas doesn't really have hobbies in the show? I tried to backtrack and just think of things that Cas does for fun and my thought process was something like: "He followed a bee in a garden once when he was insane?? And I think he played Connect 4 with Jack once??" 
> 
> There's probably a lot of little moments from the show that I'm forgetting, but for the most part, I don't think Cas actually got much character development in that realm. Like, if you asked me what Sam and Dean do for fun, I could rattle off a whole list about their characters (Dean loves listening to classic rock and taking care of Baby, he loves cars in general and wrestling and halloween, he's a total geek over things like cowboys and LoTR, even if he won't admit it. Sam is a total book nerd, so he reads a lot, he likes Celine Dion, and he's a bit of a health nut. He goes on jogs, and probably does yoga, etc etc).
> 
> But with Cas, I just can't do that? Like, he likes bees and honey. He loves Dean and Sam and his son Jack. He loved his Continental before it got stolen. Most of the little things that I imagine Cas doing in his free time (drawing and sketching, listening to folk music like John Denver, stargazing, etc) are things that I picked up from reading fanfiction, not from watching the show. 
> 
> And that just... really annoys me. So if you're sitting there going "What are you talking about? There's a lot of canon moments of Cas getting this kind of character development," then go ahead and correct me in the comments, because I actually want to be proved wrong. It's been a while since I watched anything but season 15, so I'm probably just forgetting most of hobbies and such they gave him in the show. 
> 
> Anyway. Big thanks for reading (both, the chapter and my rant), and I hope you guys are staying safe during these crazy times.


	3. So Good To Be Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I was on my way to a brighter day  
> I'm still chasing around,  
> But somehow I believe that this is home.  
> It's so good to be home."  
> \- Alaska by Sky Sailing
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has been waiting up for this chapter. I had to write it basically from scratch, so it took some time. There's a little... well, a lot of headcanons about Heaven at the end that I hope you'll enjoy. 
> 
> On an unrelated note: this work marks my first fic on ao3 that passes 10,000 words! Hooray.

“What do you think, Cas?” Dean asked, taking a step back as he gazed around the room. 

It looked good, in Dean’s humble opinion. It had felt so unlived in before, when the only things breaking up the desolate gray in the concrete room had been the single brick wall and the customary wooden desk and bed frame that all the dorms in the bunker shared. 

Now, though, the bed was dripping with the bright yellow bedspread Castiel had so happily picked out. They had all been surprised to find that the comforter set came with a bed scarf that read ‘Have a Bee-autiful Day’ on it, eliciting Dean to say so many bee puns that Sam had had to physically leave the room earlier to cool off. Hanging just over the desk was a honeycomb style shelf that held various paints and Prismacolor pencils. Dean had dragged in an old fashioned record player and a nightstand to hold all the vinyls the three of them had bought. Both of those sat next to the door, and Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Simple Man” was currently playing quietly. Glow-in-the-dark stars adorned the ceiling, meticulously placed there by Cas in constellations that Dean recognized from countless nights of looking up at the starry sky while on the road between cases. The fairy lights Sam had picked up were dancing around the cornice of the room as they emitted a soft white glow. 

Back when he and Sam had first found the Bunker, Dean had been relatively quick to call the place home. It was an awesome, secret underground bunker, after all, filled to the brim with supernatural lore, weapons, protective warding, and an ancestry neither of them had known about. Excluding Baby, Dean hadn’t had a safe place to lay his roots and let down his guard for a long, long time.

There had been something superficial about his eagerness back then, though. It had been born less out of a real sense of belonging, and more out of sheer desperation. Now, as he stood in Cas’ newly furnished room with both of his brothers at his side, Dean knew for certain that those doubts were long gone.

“It’s perfect,” Cas said, looking the brothers in the eyes one at a time. “I don’t know what I did to deserve the two of you. I know I was a bit… reluctant at first, but I didn’t-” Cas turned his eyes down briefly. “I didn’t want to be a burden. I apologize for the misunderstanding. There’s a lot left for me to learn about being part of a human family, and I cannot guarantee there won’t be further misunderstandings in the future, but I’m beyond grateful to have you both as teachers.”

“And we’re glad that we get to be the ones helping you navigate the world,” Sam piped up as he leveled the angel a meaningful look. “We couldn’t have asked for a better student-- or a better brother.” 

“Besides, after everything we’ve done for each other, did you really think we’d draw the line at getting you a bedroom, Cas?”

Sam muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “that didn’t come out right.” 

“The point is,” Dean continued after sending Sam an annoyed glance. “You’re family, so you’re getting all the benefits and drawbacks whether you want ‘em or not. Hanging out with you and giving you a place to stay is part of that-- we’d do it for anyone in our family, you included. So, no, you’re not a burden.”

Cas narrowed his eyes at the elder Winchester. “Would you tell me if I were?”

“You couldn’t be a burden if you tried, Cas,” Dean said somberly. Dean stared the angel in the eyes for a few long seconds, unwilling to look away until he was sure he had gotten his point across. When Castiel’s eyes had softened slightly, Dean continued: “You can be a real dumbass sometimes, though. I’ll let you know in the future if you’re doing something stupid. Does that work for you?”

The angel huffed softly, head shaking incredulously. “Only if I’m allowed to return the favor when you do stupid things.”

“You know what, that’s probably fair,” Sam agreed with a small smirk. 

Part of Dean wanted to protest, but in the end, he could only purse his lips and cant his head in acknowledgment. Even he couldn’t deny the limitlessness of Winchester stupidity. 

“The room really does look great, but I don’t think it’s perfect just yet,” Sam hinted, shooting Dean a knowing look. 

Dean could have rolled his eyes at the complete lack of subtlety, but Cas just tilted his head in a confused mien. Walking a discarded bag in the corner of the room, Dean pulled out two spray cans. One of them was yellow, while the other was a blue hue that almost matched Cas’ tie. The angel’s perplexed frown only deepened when the elder Winchester deposited the cans in Castiel’s arms. 

“Are we going hunting?” Cas asked. 

“Actually,” Dean started, nodding to Sam. “We had something else in mind.”

The younger hunter pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket before unfolding it and handing it to the angel. “They’re Enochian sigils. They’re supposed to have a calming effect when you activate them.”

Castiel shifted the spray cans into one arm so he could grab the paper. “I know what they are,” he mused quietly when he got a good look at the sigils. “They draw in energy from an area, and as the energy moves through the lines and the words within the sigil, the energy loses some of its speed and excitement before being released into the area again. I suppose the manipulation would be below a human’s threshold of conscious awareness, but the relaxed wavelengths could still soothe the unconscious mind. Where did you find these?”

“Ask Dean. The sigils were his idea.”

The hunter shifted his weight awkwardly-- he hadn’t wanted to let on to Cas that it was his idea. It seemed kinda laughable and girly when you stopped to think about it. “I found ‘em in the Bunker’s archives a while back.”

Dean thought about the wistful look in the angel’s eyes as he had talked about Heaven during their shopping trip. How many times had the guy talked about his homeland in the past? Dean could probably count the number of times on his hands if he tried. And the only time Dean ever asked Cas about Heaven was if they needed information on how to hunt and put down other angels. 

The Enochian sigils had seemed like a good way to let Cas know that even if Heaven was full of dickwad featherbrains, he and Sam could still respect the place, if only as a key part of their best friend’s history. The sigils were his way of bridging the gap between hunter and Heaven, human and angel. 

“I didn’t think the Men of Letters would be interested in rune work like this,” Castiel said absently as he read the instructions on the spray paint can. The angel looked up suddenly, looking between the two hunters with irked and accusing eyes. “Hold on. Are you doing this because you think I need to be calmed and soothed? Because I can assure you, I’m perfectly fine.”

“Dude. We’ve lived through at least five apocalypses. I think you’re allowed to have a little baggage,” Dean countered, aiming an unimpressed look at Cas. 

“Yeah,” Sam put in. “Honestly, if the sigils work for you, I might end up using them for my room, too. We could use all the help we can get at this point.”

Dean gave his brother a sad glance. Sammy had said the words in a half-joking manner, but there had been too many nightmare-filled and sleepless nights, too many lost appetites, too much self-doubt and reckless decisions between them for Dean to be able to look past the truth behind Sam’s words. Not that a couple of measly sigils would make everything better-- all the therapy in the world wouldn’t be able to do that.

Dean quickly schooled his expression, clearing his throat and shooting Cas a smile. “You gonna do the honours?”

Their eyes locked. Cas was giving him that look, penetrating and pensive, like he was staring straight through Dean’s forced smile into the dark thoughts the hunter was trying to bury down deep. 

The angel made a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat before turning toward a clear section on the wall. He put one paint can down on the floor and shook the other can before starting to transfer the sigils from the paper onto the wall. 

* * *

Castiel sat at the foot of his bed, turning over a partially used spray paint can in his hands. He had found both of the cans in the back of one of his dresser drawers, tossed there and all but forgotten. The angel didn’t exactly have a lot of spare clothes, but his art supplies had steadily been growing these last few weeks. So much so that his honeycomb shelf couldn’t hold all of them anymore, and he had ended up transferring the supplies into the unused dresser. 

That wasn’t the only change that had occurred since Sam and Dean had helped him decorate the room.

The walls, which had been bare previously, now housed framed drawings given to him by Sam. Ever since he and the young hunter had started a book club together, Sam had been putting in time and effort to make artworks for Cas based on the books they read. Castiel found it exceedingly endearing and generous and had started making drawings and paintings for Sam now as well, but the angel refused to hang his own works in his room. He had been making a lot of art lately, but he was never quite able to capture the beauty of the things he was trying to recreate. Things like the light in a person’s eyes or shining off their hair eluded Cas, spoiling the drawing, in his own opinion. Sam and Dean both seemed to disagree, and ever since they had caught him throwing his failed art projects away, they had made him promise to give his art to them instead. The angel couldn’t imagine what they would be doing with the vain projects, but he hadn’t wanted to argue. 

A tule reed mat had been placed next to his bed. He had managed to purchase it from a Native tribe during a hunt in California.

There were also flowers lying around the room, wild blooms that had been pressed between the pages of books or hung upside down to dry that the angel had picked up during walks in the woods surrounding the Bunker. There were a handful of new scented candles, too. The Bunker being an underground facility meant that his room was pitch black when he turned his lamp off, and the way the feeble flames of the candles could bring so much light was deeply alluring to the angel. The idea of a candle having a  _ scent  _ was also intriguing. There didn’t appear to be any rhyme or reason to it, not in the same way that a blanket provides warmth or food provides energy for survival. Humans had created candles as a source of light and comfort in the dark, but the addition of a scent served no practical use, it simply made humans happy. They did it for no other reason than because they could. Castiel’s scented candles were a welcome reminder of the ingenuity of the race that he and the Winchesters were fighting for.

Castiel loved his room very much. He loved having a place to go to in the night when the Winchesters were sleeping that was filled with things that made him smile, that made him feel like he wasn't alone, and reminded him of why he was here. It was a much better alternative than spending his nights lonely and bored, obsessively roaming the Bunker’s halls, checking the warding and cleaning up messes that had been left out just to have something to do, and all the while trying to keep quiet so the overly vigilant hunters would have well-deserved nights of easy rest. Sometimes Castiel would venture onto the roof of the building to watch the night sky, and Castiel still did that sometimes even now that he had a room, but it meant more to him than he could have known to have a place specifically given to him by the people loved. 

There was still one more change the angel had been thinking of making, though. Cas turned the spray paint can over in his hands again.

In Heaven, angels had eyries: nests where an angel grew up and could return to when they were injured or in moult. Angels had a process of marking an eyrie as their own. An angel could take their Grace and carve into the very fabric of Heaven with it. The custom in Heaven was to engrave one’s eyrie with important things and events in one’s life: a description of the angel’s first flight, the names of God and other angels one held dear, an angel’s first victory in battle-- everything that had worked to shape you into the angel you were, anything that held any significance to you would be engraved into Heaven with your Grace. With a living piece of yourself. 

It was a process of extreme importance in Heaven. When an angel died and their Grace burnt away their wings, that angel’s loved ones would gather the remnants of wings and Grace and would use the remnants to engrain the angel’s name in the eyrie. Doing so was supposed to preserve an angel’s consciousness and forever tie them to Heaven, bringing them comfort in whatever afterlife awaited angels after death. Up until a few years ago, angels rarely ever died. There was, at most, one or two deaths every thousand years. That had changed lately, Castiel knew. There had been so many deaths in Heaven so quickly that Cas was sure that there were many eyries in Heaven that had been left uncompleted, many angels' names that had not been added into their eyries to honour and assuage them in death.

Castiel also knew that his own name, if…  _ when  _ he died, would not be put into his eyrie. He wasn’t sure if his eyrie was still standing anymore. It would be sacrilegious to destroy another angel’s eyrie, and an angel’s name would only be refused after death if the angel had died without honour, but Cas had rejected Heaven. 

The fallen angel wasn’t sure what would be worse: his eyrie being destroyed by his brethren as punishment for Falling, or his eyrie being left in Heaven, unused and uningrained with all the important moments that had happened in his life ever since he Fell. 

Heaving a sigh, Castiel flicked his gaze between the empty spaces on the walls of his bedroom and the spray paint in his hands. He wasn’t in Heaven, and he wouldn’t have the Grace to spare for the engraving process even if it were capable of being done on Earth. It wasn’t the same, no, but… this was his home now. This was his eyrie, and Castiel wanted more than anything to be surrounded by the people and things that he loved. Castiel himself was already an awkward blend of human and angel, of Earth and Heaven; so why not combine his angelic traditions with earthly methods? Ironically, it was rather fitting. 

If he was being honest, Cas was a bit worried about using the spray paint to permanently mark up the walls only to find out that Sam and Dean wouldn’t approve.

(Of course, Castiel had already used paint to make those Enochian calming sigils, but Sam and Dean had been the ones to ask him to do that. The main reason that the angel had gone through with it was for Sam. The younger Winchester had made a comment about not being in the best state of mental health, and Cas was more than willing to be the ‘guinea pig’ to see if the sigils would be capable of helping his humans out. Cas had used the sigils some, and they seemed to help, but he hadn’t done enough testing yet to ensure that it wasn’t some placebo effect or only effective on angels.)

But he was getting better at understanding that he didn’t strictly need Sam and Dean’s approval or permission-- not when it came to decorating his room or to being himself, at least. Some things weren’t about approval, or saving the world, or sacrifice, or conforming to expectations, or anything other than keeping yourself happy and healthy while staying true to who you were. So while Cas still had hesitation and tentative doubts about where he belonged and what that meant to him, it was getting easier to prove to himself that those doubts and hesitations were unfounded. 

The corners of Castiel’s lips quirked up as he shook his head. If someone had told him a thousand, or a hundred, or, hell, even twenty years ago that this is where he would be today, he never would have believed them. Standing up, Cas crossed over to the record player beside the door. A few seconds later, Joey Scarbury’s “Believe It Or Not” was flowing from the speakers.

When Castiel shook the spray paint can and began writing on the walls in Enochian, he kept his font size small. After all, he had a very long life to summarise in a rather small space. 

He wrote about his first flight and his first trip to Earth, where he and Gabriel had watched the first fish crawl onto the shore. He wrote about the first time he had seen bees. He wrote about that village in Sumer, with the human who broke his leg but survived. He wrote about his decision to Fall. He wrote the names of those he missed, people like Balthazar, Anna, Gabriel, Meg, Benjamin, Samandriel, even Jimmy Novak. He wrote about a lot of things, but none as important as the four words he saved for last.

_ Sam Winchester. _

_ Dean Winchester.  _

  
  
  



	4. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Props to angelfishofthelord for saying they would like to see Sam and Dean's reactions to Castiel's eyrie; otherwise, this epilogue would not have been written. 
> 
> I was going for humor when I wrote this. I'm not sure how well I managed it, but I'm the god of this small world and I had fun writing this and what I say goes.

“We have a problem.” 

Sam stiffened at the severe tone in his brother’s voice. Brows pinching in his concern, the younger’s gaze instantly snapped to Dean. “What are you talking about?”

Dean gave his brother a subtle head shake. The hunter looked over his shoulder as though to ensure no one was listening in, which instantly put Sam on red alert. The only other person in the Bunker was Cas, but what could Dean have to say that the angel couldn’t be allowed to overhear? “You’re going to want to see this for yourself,” was all the older hunter said. 

Sam’s confusion only increased when Dean led him to Cas’ room. 

“Dean?” Sam asked, a bad feeling twisting his gut as he looked at Castiel’s closed door.

“I was dropping off another vinyl I found, but…” Dean shook his head again, gesturing for Sam to enter the room.

Internally cursing Dean for being dramatic instead of just _saying_ what was going on, Sam walked into Castiel’s bedroom, where he instantly froze. “What the hell?”

Every inch of the wall was covered in Enochian characters. The letters curved elegantly across the wall in blue and yellow paint, and Sam could tell even from a brief, stunned glance that every letter had been meticulously and carefully painted.

“What is this?” Sam turned to his brother with a frown.

“Nothing good.” Dean gazed at the Enochian. “It looks like some kind of spell to me.”

“What kind of spells would Cas be trying to cast?” Sam studied the Enochian, trying to find some word, phrase, or symbol that would make sense of the spellwork.

“Dunno. I’m more interested in finding out why Cas didn’t feel like telling us about it.” 

Picking up on the sharp undertone of Dean’s voice, Sam looked at his brother and noticed for the first time the tight set of his jaw and the hard, uncertain glint in his eyes. 

Dean’s gaze turned to meet his brother’s. “Don’t you think Cas has been acting weird these last few days? He hasn’t been talking as much. He’s been zoning out, and he’s gone on four walks in as many days-- _four_ walks _._ I know the guy likes nature, but he has never gone on hour-long walks every single day before. It’s like he’s been avoiding us.”

“Dean, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Dean replied slowly. “That Cas hasn’t been acting like himself, and now we find _this?_ A bunch of spellwork thrown across the walls? It’s almost like…”

Sam stared at his brother, face slack with incomprehension. Then, it clicked. “You think Cas is _possessed?”_

“How else do you explain all this mess?” The elder Winchester gestured at the characters on the wall.

“It could be anything, Dean! I mean, maybe-- maybe the calming sigils we gave him inspired him to make similar Enochian sigils. It doesn’t have to be anything nefarious.”

“We had to convince Cas to paint the sigils on the wall,” Dean argued. “He didn’t even want them at first. Besides, Cas is a neat freak, with his perfect suit and trench coat, and his whole OCD ‘stop leaving beer bottles lying around the Bunker, Dean, put them in a trash can where they belong’ thing.”

“To be fair, you could put more effort into actually throwing away your trash,” Sam felt obliged to point out.

“That is _not_ the takeaway here. The point is, Cas is neat but whatever is going on here is chaos. Cas hasn’t been acting like himself, and he is definitely possessed.”

“It’s not chaos. The paint’s not dripping, the characters are precise--”

“Oh, good,” Dean drawled. “At least the spell that’ll bite us in the ass is high quality.”

“The Bunker is literally warded against demons. If Cas were possessed, he wouldn’t be able to come inside. There’s something… weird, to say the least, going on here, but it doesn’t mean the guy’s possessed.” 

“I thought about that,” Dean said quickly. “The Bunker is warded against demons that are possessing humans. But, if a demon were to possess an angel, that could mess things up. What if the demon isn’t registering as a demon cuz of Cas’ angel mojo? Or it could be another angel. Cas doesn’t have a reason to say yes to any of those dicks, but if they threatened us, or if they tricked him-”

“ _Dean!_ I’m telling you, Cas isn’t possessed,” Sam said, although now he wasn’t so sure. Dean had made a good point about the warding not being efficient against an angel and a demon in the same vessel. Angels and demons hated each other, and under ordinary circumstances they would never share a vessel-- and an angel at full-power would be able to instantly smite any demon who tried. Sam had to admit that there was a chance the Men of Letters had never thought to make a ward that would be powerful enough to recognize and keep away an angel and demon hitching a ride in the same vessel. Was there a demon brave enough to try to possess Cas? The angel wasn’t as powerful as he once was, but even the most foolish demons should be wary of surrounding themselves with three highly trained and skilled warriors. 

“Then what’s with Cas’ sudden urge to try splatter painting, huh?” Dean demanded.

“Crazy idea here, but maybe we should just try asking him?”

“And risk losing the element of surprise? No way.”

Sam threw his arms up in frustration. “What do you suggest, then?”

“Easy. You’re a nerd, so figure out what the hell the spellwork is.”

“Fine,” Sam huffed. It wasn’t like he knew Enochian, but he would humor Dean for now. Sam roved his gaze over the characters, trying for any symbol that could clue him in on what-- if any-- spell was written.

“Well?” Dean said, glancing at the door impatiently. 

“Since you steadfastly refuse to just ask Cas, we’ll probably have to get a book on Enochian from the archives. I don’t recognize any of th-- oh.” 

“Oh?” Dean repeated, drawing closer. 

Sam had been looking at the Enochian wrong, his eyes drifting from left to right. Sam redirected his gaze to read from right to left, and instantly saw a pattern in the writing. There was a certain movement in the characters, the curving lines of writing all leading to a natural focal point. And Sam knew exactly what was written there. 

The younger Winchester ghosted a hand over a few small lines of characters. “It’s our names.”

“Come again?” Dean frowned. 

“You remember when Cas carved those sigils into our ribs? To hide us from other angels? I had him show me exactly what he carved on our ribs, and part of the spellwork included our names. I know what our names look like in Enochian, and this is it: ‘Sam Winchester,’ then ‘Dean Winchester.’” 

“And you still think he’s not possessed? You still think this isn’t the slightest bit suspicious?”

“I… I don’t know, Dean.”

“Maybe it’s a demon, or an angel, or a cursed object, but there’s something wrong here, Sam,” Dean said with a stern look. “And you know it.” 

“Now you’re thinking it could be a cursed object?” Sam frowned. “We don’t exactly bring back souvenirs from hunts.” 

Dean’s eyes widened slightly. “Except we _did_ bring back a souvenir. Or Cas did, at least.” 

“You’re kidding,” Sam whispered. He looked down at the tule reed mat laying on the ground near Castiel’s bed. The angel had bought it from a Native American tribe during a hunt in California just last week. Sam knew it was a common stereotype that Native Americans practiced voodoo, spells, and charms. In most cases the stereotype wasn’t remotely true, but in the hunting business, Team Free Will tended to stumble across the less common, more paranormal side of things in life. Or rather, the paranormal seemed to purposefully chase them out and cause chaos. Castiel spent way more time around the rug than Sam or Dean since it was in his room, so if it was a cursed object that would make someone go off the rails, it made sense that it would be affecting Cas. 

“I told you!” Dean hissed. “I told you both we shouldn’t buy it, not after what happened with those goddamn bugs in that housing development! I knew it was gonna go south with that Indian voodoo crap!”

“Not Indian,” Sam winced. “They prefer to be called Native Americans.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Dean glared down at the tule reed rug. “I’m gonna freaking burn that thing.” 

“Maybe we shouldn’t--”

“Nuh-uh,” Dean interrupted. “I’m gonna burn the stupid rug, and you’re gonna go give Cas a holy water test. I ain’t taking any chances here.” 

Sam paused, glancing once more at the spell(?) with their names in it. He really didn’t know what the right thing to do was anymore. 

“Okay…” Sam said slowly. “And on the off chance that Cas is being possessed by another angel…?”

Dean sighed. “Here’s the plan…”

* * *

Castiel let out a low growl after he accidentally reread the same paragraph yet again. 

After he had Fallen from Heaven, Castiel had been exposed to a steadily growing range of human emotions. There were quite a few emotions that he liked-- contentedness, determination, and belonging, for instance. But he had to acknowledge that there were plenty of unpleasant emotions like the ones currently taking root inside of him. 

He felt anxious. Confused. Afraid of failing. Guilty. Frustrated. 

Three days ago, he had made the decision to write the story of his favorite moments on the wall of his room. It had not been until he had stepped back, the strong smell of wet paint filling his nostrils that he had realized he would have to tell Sam and Dean what the writing meant. 

Castiel had no idea how he was supposed to do that. He wasn’t sure where to begin explaining the writing or the personal stories they told. Most importantly, Cas wasn’t sure how to explain the names that now adorned his walls. 

Writing someone’s name within your eyrie was one of the highest honours you could give them. It represented an extreme level of trust, devotion, and affection. Writing someone’s name on your eyrie meant that the mere thought of that angel-- or those humans, in this case-- was enough to lend you strength and comfort, even in your darkest hour. That’s what eyries were for, after all: a place filled with what could comfort you through injury or moult. Any attempt on Castiel’s part to explain to his two humans why he had their names written on his wall would essentially be a declaration of love, and Cas knew that declarations of love were traditionally reserved for when someone was about to die. 

For once, Castiel could say that he was fairly certain neither of the three of them were about to die. Ordinarily, the angel would be _extremely_ grateful for that. Right now, however, Castiel couldn’t help but feel it would make things easier if one of their lives were at risk-- at least then Castiel could tell his humans about his eyrie without breaking one of their trivial social rules on declarations of love. 

Castiel had spent the last three days distracted, trying to come up with some compromise where he wouldn’t upset, annoy, or otherwise ‘freak out’ the Winchesters. It had been more stressful than Cas would care to admit, and every time he looked at Sam or Dean, it only served to reignite the nervousness about what was to come. He hadn’t been around them as much because of it, which was admittedly a rude move on his part. 

He would be sure to make it up to them after everything was said and done. But for now, Castiel glared down at the textbook he was trying to translate from Romanian into English. He would continue to go on walks and translate books instead of confronting Sam and Dean and his own complicated emotions. If only said emotions weren’t making it so hard to concentrate.

“Hey, Cas.” 

He groaned internally at Sam’s voice. Perhaps he wouldn’t be able to ignore everything, after all. “Hello, Sam.” 

“Can you do me a favor?” 

Castiel looked up as Sam slid into a seat before pushing a mug of coffee across the table. 

“Try this for me? I’m trying something new with the coffee ground; I want to know if it tastes good.” 

“You want _me_ to try it?” Cas asked dubiously. Surely Sam should know by now that it was difficult for him to taste anything other than molecules, especially in a hot liquid. 

“Dean’s being uncooperative,” Sam said with an eye-roll. Then he fixed the angel with a pleading look. “Please?”

“I…” Cas trailed off, hesitating at Sam’s puppy dog eyes. Goddamn it. “Alright.”

Castiel was awarded a gentle smile as he wrapped a hand around the mug and took a drink. He sometimes drank beer and coffee with Sam and Dean, so he knew how Sam usually brewed the beverage. Cas had to admit there was something different about this brew, though he wasn’t sure what it was. He couldn’t detect any molecules or atoms that weren’t normally there, nor could he detect an absence of any that usually were there. But there was something odd, something different about their state of being--

“Well?” Sam asked, watching the angel closely. “What do you think?” 

“It tastes more or less the same as it usually does,” Cas replied honestly. 

Sam made a thoughtful noise before he pulled out his phone. “Thanks, Cas.”

“Of course,” Castiel murmured. He turned back to the texts he was trying to translate when Sam started typing, hoping the conversation was over. He wasn’t sure how much longer he would be able to live in this horrible awkward state. Castiel needed to get over himself and find some way to talk to his humans without his stomach twisting and churning. 

Castiel took a deep breath. He didn’t need to breathe, technically, but the sensation did give him something neutral to focus on. He could do this. As long as he didn’t ‘make a big deal’ out of it, it would be fine. 

Cas looked up. “Where is Dean, by the way?”

It would be best if he could tell Sam and Dean at once, that way he wouldn’t have to repeat himself.

“Funny you should ask. He just shot me a text saying he could use our help with something.”

...Oh. Well, Castiel supposed he could tell them about his room after whatever Dean needed. “What does he need help with?”

Sam stood up, putting his phone away with a smile. “Tell you on the way?”

The angel paused. There was something strange going on here, but he couldn’t put a name to it. Something about Sam’s smile felt a little too… careful. Cas decided he was probably just imagining it. It wasn’t like he was the expert at understanding or recognizing human emotions, if his various past failed social interactions were anything to go by. 

Muttering an affirmative, Castiel abandoned the translations and followed Sam toward the storage rooms. 

“We found some notes in an old Men of Letters report,” Sam was explaining. “Something about a piece of machinery in storage that can track angels using their angel blades.”

“Really?” Cas had never heard of an angel being tracked in such a manner, but the Men of Letters did have a lot of odd and clever contraptions lying about. 

“Yeah. We were hoping to see if it works.”

“And I take it you want me to be the ‘guinea pig?’”

“It would be really helpful,” Sam said. “Who knows if we’ll need to track down an angel in the future?”

“Of course, you would have to procure the angel’s blade first, and angels don’t typically like to part with them.”

The young Winchester shrugged. “We’ll deal with it as it comes. Do you mind if I…?” Sam gestured to Castiel’s sleeve. The angel materialized his blade, handing it over without a thought. 

“Thanks.” The two came to a stop in front of a door. “After you.”

The first thing he noticed upon entering the old storage room was how dusty it was. Castiel did not like dust-- he imagined humans wouldn’t like it, either, but at least they couldn’t see every skin cell, deceased insect, and particle of dirt that made up the substance. The second thing he noticed was Dean, half-hidden behind some shelf as he worked. 

Cas moved forward to greet him, but he hadn’t moved more than a few steps before his Grace flared painfully. Castiel froze as a sudden pressure built up around him, compressing his Grace into a tight ball. His head snapped up; on the ceiling was a painted angel trap keeping him pinned in place. 

“Uh, Sam? Dean?”

It was some failsafe, Castiel thought. Installed long ago by the Men of Letters and forgotten about. The Winchesters probably hadn’t even noticed it was there.

“You’re sure he passed?” Dean asked, coming fully out from behind the shelf.

“Yeah,” Sam walked around Cas to stand next to Dean. “He drank the coffee with no problem.”

“He wasn’t disoriented at all? Even after I burned the carpet?”

Sam sighed. “No. I guess it wasn’t a cursed object, after all.”

Castiel’s heart started to pound. What was going on? Neither of them were making a move to free him from the angel trap. Why were they talking about cursed objects? Cas moved his gaze between the sigil and the Winchesters, remembering Sam’s forced smile earlier. Had Sam and Dean… planned this? 

“Dean?” Cas asked, trying to keep his voice even. “What’s happening?”

Castiel didn’t like the looks on their faces. He knew those looks-- hard, neutral, ungiving. They were wearing the masks they put in place when interrogating monsters. Castiel fought off a bout of nausea as his gaze flicked to the angel blade in Sam’s hand. 

Dean followed the angel’s gaze. “It’s okay, Cas.” Dean gestured at Sam, who put the blade away. “We’re not going to hurt you.” 

“Wh-What…” Castiel started, but it was getting hard to speak around the lump forming in his throat. 

Something in Dean’s face softened. “But you’re gonna have to fight this.”

Cas’ eyes widened. Fight? Fight _what?_ Hopefully not them-- he would never do that.

“We have faith in you, Cas. You’re a tough son of a bitch; always have been, always will be. You’re stronger than this,” Dean continued. 

Castiel’s head started to shake, ready to again ask what Sam and Dean were doing. 

_‘He drank the coffee with no problem.’_

“The coffee,” Cas whispered. He continued in a louder voice, shooting Sam an injured and confused look: “You brewed the coffee in holy water?”

And then Castiel understood. “You think I’m _possessed!?”_

Sam and Dean exchanged a look.

If he had passed the holy water test, and he was currently in an angel trap, that must mean they thought another angel was in this vessel. How could they think he would _ever_ allow such a thing to happen? “Why would you think that?”

“We saw what you did to Cas’ room,” Dean said. “You put all those fun little spells on the walls. It’s like the set of a bad horror movie in there.”

“There are no spells in my room!” Castiel said, frustrated. “Nothing but the calming sigils _you_ gave to me.”

“We saw our names,” Sam spoke up. “Spelled out on your wall in Enochian. What could that be for, if not some type of spell?” 

“Oh,” Castiel grimaced. “You went into my room, didn’t you?”

Dean clicked his tongue. “Yeah. And we know you’ve been acting squirrely.”

“I’m afraid there might have been a small misunderstanding,” Cas said weakly. 

Something uncertain flashed in Sam’s eyes. It was brief, there for less than a second, but Castiel saw it. “What do you mean?”

The angel sighed. This was not how he had imagined this conversation would go. He had run thousands of simulations in his head for the last three days, and while some of them had not ‘run smoothly,’ none of them had ended up quite like this. Castiel was in no way prepared to handle this.

“The writing on my walls isn’t any form of spell. It’s… tradition.” 

“Tradition,” Dean repeated flatly. Cas winced at the skepticism in his face. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s something angels do. A way of marking our territory.”

“You wrote our names on your wall to mark your territory?” Sam asked slowly. 

“It’s more complicated than that.” 

“Well, me and Sammy don’t have anywhere to be,” Dean said, crossing his arms. “So you better start explaining.”

Castiel shifted uncomfortably under the weight of the Winchester’s stares. “In Heaven, angels have eyries-- homes that we can return to if we’re ever injured. I’ll forgo the metaphysical mechanics for now, but it’s traditional for an angel to write down everything that is important to them in the confines of their eyrie.” 

Sam took a step forward. The Winchester was trying to maintain a neutral face, but there was a glint of curiosity in his eyes that he couldn’t quite douse. “What do you mean, ‘everything that is important to them?’”

“An angel would write out moments in one’s life that contributed to one’s self-concept, or that helped develop one into the best version of oneself. Anything that inspires courage, strength, happiness, or devotion could be recounted. Things like memories, or objects,” Castiel looked down at his feet as he felt his face warm up. “Or people.”

Clearing his throat, Castiel forced himself to look up at Sam and Dean’s general direction. “I don’t have an eyrie anymore, but I don’t need one, either. After you gave me a room here, I thought… I thought I might…” The angel licked his lips, unsure how to continue. 

“Hold on,” Dean spoke up. “So angels have giant bird nests in Heaven?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘bird nest,’ exactly--” Cas interjected. 

“And you put things you don’t want to forget in them,” Dean continued like Cas hadn’t spoken. “I mean, it’s a place you go to when you’re sick-- so everything that was ever meaningful to you, that could ever make you feel better-- and you put our names? A couple of dumbass humans mean that much to you?”

Castiel’s mouth struggled open and closed for a few seconds. “Does this mean you’re going to let me out of the angel trap?” 

“Just to be clear,” Sam said. “You’re not being possessed by a demon or an angel? And you’re not under the influence of a cursed object?” 

“No! I swear to you, it is only me within this vessel. Why are you even considering the existence of a cursed object?” 

Sam grimaced. “Well, you started avoiding us shortly after you put that tule reed rug in your room…”

“What,” Castiel narrowed his eyes at the Winchesters. “Did you do to my rug?”

“Dean set it on fire,” Sam said quickly, stepping away from the older Winchester. 

“Sammy!” Dean hissed, shooting the other a venomous glare. 

“If we had just asked Cas about the Enochian from the start, _like I said we should do_ , none of this would have happened. But, no, you had to go be Mr Paranoid--” 

“You literally helped me burn the rug,” Dean argued. “Do not act like you’re innocent in this.”

“I liked that rug,” Cas put in bitterly. “Should I take off my trench coat so you can set that on fire, too?”

“Sorry,” Sam said, giving Cas a sympathetic wince. “We’ll get you a new one. This is such a mess.”

“I have to admit, it was a cleverly constructed mess. You managed to slip me holy water, disarm me, and trap me, all without raising suspicion.” 

“If I were to say that I came up with the plan,” Dean started.

Cas shook his head at the self-satisfied look on the Winchester’s face. “Then it would not win you any favors, Dean.”

The self-satisfaction melted into something sheepish. “I’ll shut up now.” 

Taking the angel blade out, Sam moved forward to slash through the angel trap sigil. As Sam raised an arm to the ceiling, Castiel couldn’t help but notice that the action left the more vital parts of his body vulnerable to attack, which was a mistake that should not be made around an embarrassed and highly annoyed Angel of the Lord. 

The sigil broke, and the pressure keeping Castiel in place dissipated. He let out a relieved sigh as the tension left his limbs and his Grace tentatively unfurled. 

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said after Sam had returned his angel blade. “It was my cowardice that kept me from telling you about those Enochian sigils. If I had said something sooner, none of this would have happened.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Cas. If you didn’t bottle your emotions and accidentally make a mess of things, you wouldn’t be a real Winchester. Ow!” Dean cringed as Sam elbowed him. “I was joking! Mostly.” 

“So you wrote our names on your wall?” Sam asked with the spark of excitement he got when he was learning something new. “What does that mean, exactly? Is there some ritual we’re supposed to do in return? Do we put your name in our rooms?”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” Castiel admitted. “I suppose you can if you want to.” 

“It’s more than just our names, though. Your room is completely covered in Enochian. Do you have your whole life story written in there?” Dean asked. 

“I believe you could call it a ‘highlight reel.’” He could cover every inch of the Bunker in Enochian and it wouldn’t contain even half of his life story. 

“And you said it looked like something out of a horror movie.” Sam shot Dean a disapproving glance.

Dean spluttered. “Uh, yeah, cuz it’s weird. I wasn’t expecting it, okay? Humans don’t do stuff like that.” 

“My room isn’t decorated in a traditional human fashion,” Castiel said. “But I’m not exactly a traditional human.”

“So are we allowed to know what you wrote? Or is it supposed to be private? Because you’ve heard a ton of our stories, from hunts to fireworks in July to jumping off roofs in Batman costumes--” Dean pointedly ignored Sam’s eye-roll at this last part. “And I think it’s about time you returned the favor.” 

“I would love to.” The corners of Castiel’s lips tugged upwards. It was the first time he had smiled in three days, and at this moment, Cas realized how ridiculous he had been to stress over telling his humans how much he loved them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think in the show, you're supposed to put cursed objects in magical lockboxes to stop their effects, but I thought Sam and Dean burning Cas' rug was hilarious. I'll have to ask you to overlook this small inconsistency for the sake of comedic effect.


End file.
